Flightless Bird
by LadyLattice
Summary: The Senju clan has been engaged in a territorial war with a clan of tengu - the Uchiha - for centuries. As Hashirama develops a tempestuous relationship with Madara, Tobirama takes it upon himself to protect both his clan and his brother from the threat that is the tengu patriarch, even if he must lose Hashirama's love in the process. DISCONTINUED FOR NOW.


So this was inspired by loonelybird's incredible tengu Madara fan art on Tumblr. I threw in some mentions of tengu lore that weren't part of her painting, but ya know, I research even stupid shit when I write.

In general, the timeline, clan dynamics, and events in this story coincide with canon, but obviously I took a few liberties by turning Madara into... Well... A bird. So after the prologue I'll do a little time skip thing and imply a lot of canon events without going into too much detail. I don't want to rehash everything just because Madara is a tengu; I'd rather just get into the meat of the story. I'll probably have a couple of chapters, but this won't be really long piece.

Please drop a comment if you like where this is going! I need a little motivation to do anything right now lol Meadie out.

 **{Prologue}**

Tobirama could still recall well the first time Hashirama had returned from the riverside, hems muddy and cheeks flushed with one of the cheery smiles that he could never quite conceal from their father, a long black feather clutched protectively in tanned fists. Confronting the elder was useless, as his stubbornness ran as deep as the roots of the trees that guarded the Senju territory like sentinels high above their heads, protecting them from the death that came from above. At first it seemed but an innocent diversion, a childish escape from the war that they knew too well but were too young to end or question. Yet soon a single feather became two, then three, then four that were bound in strips of silk - fine material doubtlessly swiped from their mother's mending scraps - as a charm to ornament the tsuba of Hashirama's sword.

It would protect him, he claimed proudly; but in his nine years Tobirama had seen many fall who claimed to be under the protective wing of some god or another. And yet wing had always brought their deaths.

Soon he was following his elder brother upon his father's order, lurking in the shadows of the forest and spying like a thief as Hashirama lounged on the riverbank with none other than a tengu, whose broad wings like onyx spread lazily over the grass. An Uchiha - a mortal enemy of the mighty Senju clan - lie contently beside Senju Butsuma's heir, seemingly unperturbed by the tanned fingers that pet and stroked vivid black feathers. They bantered with an easy familiarity that pulled knots around Tobirama's heart, and he held his breath in the presence of so great a threat.

"I can't believe your face isn't actually red," Hashirama whined as if sorely disappointed.

The tengu scoffed as Tobirama often did when confronted with his brother's idiocy and shifted, one large wing pulling free of Hashirama's grasp and folding closed. "Of course not. It's just paint for battle. You humans were the ones that started assuming that we were all red-faced. That just proves how dumb you are."

"But Madara!" the Senju countered pitifully, "I've always seen you with a red face!"

"Because the dye is hard to scrub off, stupid groundling! The battlefield has been quiet for a few days, there hasn't been any need for my face to be painted."

Tobirama's eyes narrowed as the tengu's voice trailed away at the mention of the war, and Hashirama fell silent in a rare moment of sage acknowledgement. They sat in pleasant quiet for several long moments, savoring the peace and the warmth of the sun and the scent of mud drying along the riverbank; and the young Senju's skin crawled at their oblivious contentment. The Uchiha and the Senju had been at odds for nearly a millennia, ever embroiled in a grand clash of earth and sky. The tengu were dangerous, and Tobirama refused to lose yet another brother to their vicious wiles. So when Hashirama shifted, leaning closer to brush his calloused palms over gleaming black feathers as if caressing the world's greatest treasure, the younger boy's pulse nearly stopped short in his veins.

"Your wings are beautiful, Madara," he cooed sweetly to counter the Uchiha's subtle flinch. "I wish I had wings. We could fly far away from this place and it's wars."

"Your dreams will kill us both," the tengu replied after a number of long, slow breaths. "I wouldn't abandon my family for any of your promises, and neither should you."

In a sun-slicked glitter of dark feathers he was gone, leaving Hashirama grasping little more than a fist full of damp grass and Tobirama's heart throbbing in his throat. Little fazed him, as he was a child raised by the firm hand of his father and the cruel mistress that was War, but even the snowy-haired boy could do little to tame the fear that he felt upon the realization of his brother's intentions. Fraternizing with the enemy, the same foul beasts that had stolen the lives of their kin and who posed the greatest threat to the Senju from among many. The entire ordeal was bizarre and dangerous; but not as dangerous as the happiness in the smile upon Hashirama's face.


End file.
